Fourteen hours from the lanai to baggage claim at Terminal 3. Outside the doors, everyone in the crowd seemed to feel the cold at once. There was quite a sound from the people still in resort clothes.
Our car was waiting. Jonathan had warmed it remotely from the plane, and the seat moved to memory two before I had fastened my belt. I was grateful he had thought of it.
The house was fine. Brian's report listed three fox crossings, “gait nominal.” He is taking a close interest in the fox. The mugs had been dusted and put back one position out, which answered the usual question about whether Jonathan touches the shelf.
At ten the kitchen television warned of dangerous wind chills on Thursday. The familiar weather man, the familiar warning. I felt properly home. On Sunday I'll go up to Touhy. We still have three weeks to decide about Naples.